Business as Usual

Jack made his way past room 208, known to the police as number 10-16 - Domestic disturbance. He felt his way in the darkness along the bullet holes in the wall and descended the stairs.

As he opened the door, the light of dawn was sprawling across the street. "That fat bastard is probably sprawling at the crack of Dawn now too", Jack thought. "Dawn...", Jack took a small flask out of his breast pocket and took a swig, "Damn"

Dawn - one of the few people in this neighbourhood who for some unknown reason actually had taken a liking to Jack. Free of charge, leastwise. She'd grown up an orphan girl and like so many of them had ended up working in Madame Butterfly's Boudoir. Every time Jack looked into those big blue eyes of her, he felt like he could drown in them and die a happy man. He'd known her for 6 years now but it seemed like a lifetime. Unfortunately for Jack, not the right life and not the right time.

"Poor sap", he heard a voice at the back of his head, "you know she's probably with Bobby right now, right?". Jack knew how to silence the voice and drank. It didn't change the fact that the voice was probably correct. "Bobby... right". Full name: James Robert Sullivan. Age: 26. Rap sheet the size of Texas and a body mass to match. Vices included Grand Theft Auto, armed robbery, killing with intent, killing without intent and breaking and entering. Occupation: spending Rich Uncle Pennybags' money when not using his Get Out of Jail Free cards. Around these parts, this placed him squarely in the wanted ads. In any other state, it placed him on Most Wanted posters. "Fat bastard", Jack spat.

The bell jingled as he entered the local 7-Eleven. "Hey, D-man, what's shakin'?", the salesclerk greeted him. "Hey, Randal, nothing much - nothing much". He ordered a quarter pounder dog with cheese, chili and pepper and a cup of Dark Mountain Roast to go. Jack took out a black leather wallet that looked like it had seen quite some action, payed the usual $2.50 and bumped into a hooded figure entering the store as he was about to leave. "Hey, Pops, watch it!" - "Pops?", Jack instinctively turned and tripped the figure. "Oops, sorry, Junior, didn't see you there", Jack retorted with a wide grin on his face. The youngster on the floor wasn't grinning. His eyes awash with rage, he pulled out a .44 but heard the sound of a double barrel loading followed by something heavy tickling his right ear faster than a hooker changing Johns for a couple of Benjamins. The youngster's arm holding the gun slowly descended. "You alright, D?", Randal asked gazing over the barrel of the shotgun. "Yeah, I'm cool. Thanks, Randal - see ya tomorrow", Jack replied as he turned, his coat flapping and his right arm raised upright in a greeting. When he was back on the street, he took a sip from his coffee. "Tsk... Kids".

The sweltering sun was beating down on Jack's face, even though it was just morning. Jack fumbled in his jeans, pulled out a handkerchief and swept the sweat from his face. He was standing at the corner of 6th and Oak, though there wasn't an oak in sight. People 'round here called the block by a more suitable name: God's Furnace - especially on hot days like this. In this heat, Jack let his mind wander for a spell. He couldn't remember how long he had stood there, but after a while he started to hear Joe Cocker singing those familiar lyrics "Hot town, summer in the city - back of my neck getting dirt and gritty" in the back of his head and began whistling to the tune as he strolled further along Paradise Boulevard. At the crossing with 5th, he took a left turn until he reached Purgatory drive and Inferno avenue junction. He took a right and unlocked the door to a dingy apartment building. A crooked sign by the door hanging by a single nail read

with the J dangling in the wind. Jack made his way up the stairs and panted as he stood in front of the door to his office. "Damn it, I got to start exercising". He picked up the small stack of letters piled on the floor, opened the door, threw the empty coffee cup in the bin and sat down at his desk. The blinds were shut and it was surprisingly cool inside the room. He sat down at his desk, leaned back and put his feet up. He started going through the letters. "Bill, bill, 2nd notice, 3rd notice, summons,..." Jack sighed. Then he opened the desk drawer, took the bottle of JD out and put it to his lips. With his left hand he took the 3 darts out of the desk stand and aimed for the dartboard to the right of the door. One of the darts landed him a triple 20, the other two ended up puncturing some more holes in the wall. Next he took the car key out of the desk drawer, stood up and locked up behind him. He went back downstairs and opened the garage box next to the apartment building. The sun reflected off the dark windshield of the black Trans Am. He sat down on the driver's seat, threw the half empty bottle on the passenger seat, opened the glove compartment and took out the camera. He peered through the viewfinder at the couple passing by and snapped a shot just as the woman ran her hands through her long hair and brushed some of her golden locks behind her right ear.

Jack put the camera next to the bottle, turned the ignition key and revved the engine. He felt his heart pounding and his blood racing to the roar of the beast bucking under the kick of his right foot. He put the car into gear and took a hard left, tires screeching and rubber burning. He drove the car to the West Side and parked it in an alley with a clear view of the seedy hotel across the street called "The Cherry Pop Inn". "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag", Jack thought to himself as he searched the windows for a familiar silhouette. Somehow, the hotel always managed to have full occupancy despite its decrepit look, small rooms and roach infested walls. People around these parts tended to prefer the classics.

Jack took out the telephoto lens and screwed it onto his camera. Then he zoomed in on the twosome in apartment 276 getting it on. At times like these, Jack wished he hadn't given up starting smoking. Jack remembered being 14 and getting the shit kicked out of him by some of the elder kids for not taking a hit. He wryly imagined them all having died of lung cancer by now - "Lucky bastards". As the woman climaxed, Jack quickly took a couple of pictures that wouldn't have been out of place in a Hustler magazine. Then he put the camera back on the seat next to him, had another swig of J.D. and started the engine again.

When Jack got back to Inferno Avenue with his own Storyville Portraits, he couldn't help but notice the big crane parked right in front of his garage box. Apparently, City Hall had finally swayed under citizen pressure to do something about the state the streets were in, the streets being the main source of income here. In fact, City Hall had deemed it necessary to have half the street broken up during Jack's short absence. "What the F...?!", he thought. Now, normally, Jack was a reasonable man. Reasonably sober, that is. This particular day however, Jack had had a beating headache ever since he'd gotten out of bed and had been drinking non-stop up until now. To say that Jack was angry would be like saying Hitler wasn't a very nice person. No, Jack was pissed. No, more correctly, Jack was borderline psychotic. Or no, most correctly, Jack was a Towering Volcano of Rage ... on rocket fuel.

"Say, bub, you're not going to let them get away with that, are you?", Jack thought he heard someone whisper, "See that pile of highway explosives over there?" - Jack's head turned - "It'd be a damn shame if something happened to it, wouldn't you say?" Jack climbed up the crane and took it off the brake. Ever so slowly, the crane started rolling down the road, picking up speed as it rolled along the gentle slope until it finally hit the pile of explosives just as it had picked up momentum. The whole neighbourhood shook and half the street's car alarms started to go off as Jack leaned into his car to take the camera from the passenger's seat.

Jack went back upstairs to his office, uploaded the pictures and sent them to his client - encrypted, password to be received upon payment as per agreement. When he got back out, a crowd was gathering around the flaming debris and the overseer stepped up to him. "Hey, you, buddy!", the man yelled trying to overcome the fire truck sirens, "What the hell is going on here?" - "Business as Usual, friend", Jack calmy replied as he got in the Trans Am and parked it in his garage box. "Business as usual..."

To be continued...?